Do You See Me Now?
by JohnnyWinchester
Summary: Short angst oneshot based on the song by Angtoria. Rated for cutting and slight language. Trigger warning.


_**Hey guys, sorry for the angst-fest over here, but this is my therapy. I know people get annoyed with fics about Sam cutting, so here's your warning. If this doesn't appeal to you, go somewhere else.  
Takes place in season… 3 I think? After the apocalypse has begun.  
Also sorry if his thoughts seem scattered and random, but that's pretty accurate to life. When you're upset and depressed, you don't exactly think with a timeline. I just let my fingers go about their way on the keyboard on this one.  
If you haven't assumed yet, I think this one can definitely be considered a trigger. Please don't read if you're not in a safe place, literally and figuratively.  
Enjoy, my lovelies :) **_

**Do You See Me Now? – Angtoria **  
(Sam)

_Hate the reflection that I see  
Wish I could claw... away... my skin  
Demons won't let me flee my mind's tragedy  
Don't label me, not a minority  
Society created me_

Sam watched as his brother closed the motel door, walking across the lot to the Impala to go and buy food from the diner down the road. The younger man felt a small stab of guilt upon imagining the look on Dean's face when he realized that the gas tank only held enough to carry him to the next gas station when he had just refilled the day before yesterday, but Sam needed time to himself. Time alone was a precious commodity and he wished that he could savor it a little more, but he had to use the allotted time wisely.

He walked to the weapons bag and slid a hand in, his slender fingers finding a secret compartment that held a finely-sharpened large razor blade. Easy enough for him to explain if found, but Sam preferred to keep it secret. His own private game. He played with the instrument for a moment, watching it twinkling in the light like a diamond. A diamond that was capable of carving paths of liquid ruby, if you were thinking about it in the poetic sense.

Sure, he had to pay the price of scars, but what were they? As a Hunter, Sam had what was probably hundreds of scars painted up and down his body from wounds gained over the years, so really a few more thin ones didn't matter. As long as he was careful to hide the cuts themselves, the remaining scar tissue should go wholly unnoticed by his big brother.

At least that's what he hoped.

He knew that… cutting… (He hated to use that word) was wrong. Weird, disgusting, dangerous and wrong. But it helped. It helped his guilt and stress melt away. He had no other release. Nowadays, he felt as if Dean didn't trust him at all, but it's not as if Sam blamed him. Not one bit.

And then every time they took down a demon… He was taunted with the fact that this was all HIS fault. No matter how much his brother and Bobby tried half-heartedly to convince him otherwise while the truth danced in their eyes, the fact remained that if not for him trusting a demon over his own blood and going off half-cocked and killing that stupid bitch, Lucifer would still be in the cage.

_First cut's the neatest, I didn't feel a thing  
Don't show me your pity  
Second cut's the deepest, a release from within  
Don't try to analyze me_

He sat down on the edge of the bed. Sometimes he did it sitting on the side of the tub or standing with his arm held above the sink for a quicker clean-up, but he honestly preferred to be comfortable so that he didn't feel so rushed.

The first cut was always a test run, a quick slice to test the sharpness of the blade. It almost never hurt at all. Blood immediately bubbled to the surface, but it barely formed a few drops on the skin.

Good, it was nice and honed. Dull worked too, but it was hard to make it bleed with dull, and Sam liked the blood. It was like retribution for all the sins that he had committed.

The second cut was slow, calculated, deep. Pushing down as hard as he dared, Sam drew it across the forearm near his elbow very slowly, feeling the stinging pull as the razorblade opened up a gash in his arm. The young hunter took in a deep breath and watched as blood began to slowly seep into the cut he had inflicted upon himself.

_Carve pretty pictures of hatred  
Avert your eyes, my artwork doesn't lie  
Refuse to acknowledge me  
I'm not what you want to see  
So inject and study me  
Pump me with hypocrisy_

He didn't want to be pitied for what he did. He wasn't some angsty teenager saying 'oh look at my wrist and how I bleed. Aren't I sad?' No. He did this for release and release only. He couldn't even begin to imagine the way his brother or Bobby would react. Cas wouldn't particularly care, he'd just think he was nuts. "Oh wait," Sam thought with a bitter, humourless laugh. "He already does."

Dean had been right when they had had the fight right before Lucifer was released; He was a monster. Just like the ones they hunted. Dean had taken back the words unthinkingly voiced in a fit of anger, but they still rang in his baby brother's head on loop.

_Third cut's the longest, I just lost control  
No doctor can save me  
Fourth cut's the boldest; I've an eye for detail  
Don't try to admit me_

His head filled with thoughts of Dean and his disappointment, Sam drew the blade across his skin much more harshly than he intended, eliciting a loud hiss of pain. With a grit of his teeth, he ran the blade within the cut one more time, deepening it and causing it to bleed (and hurt) like a sonovabitch.

He wondered how Dean actually would react. There was Option One; where he freaked the fuck out and called Sam a freak and hated him. Option Two; He didn't care (a far stretch, knowing Dean's overprotective ways, but eh). Option Three; He broke down and believed that it was all his fault.

Sam didn't know which one scared him more.

_My condition has no name  
It's not like I'm insane  
Redirect your empathy  
My body's my vengeance  
I'm addicted to pain  
No one understands me._

As he lifted the razor to place another mark, Sam heard boots on the concrete and a whistled tune that sounded eerily like Led Zeppelin's "Livin' Lovin' Maid". He freaked and dove into the bathroom, scrubbing the blood off his arm as he heard Dean struggle with the motel key. (Yes, 'key', not 'card'. This place was THAT old.)

"Hey, bro! Mind givin' me a hand out here?" His older brother's tone range with impatience. Sam slipped his sleeve down over his mutilated arm and walked over to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it.

"Man, I think somebody drained my car." Dean complained, sitting down on the table bags filled with food. He turned to sit down on the bed. "Just filled up the tank a few days back, and now it's bone dry. I had to – What the fuck?" Dean's face scrunched into a look of confusion as he picked up the blood-covered blade that Sam had, in his panic, left on the bed.

Sam felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He began to shake, and felt as though he were about to vomit. There's no way Dean could find out. No. Oh, please, God…

He was literally shaken out of his thoughts by the enraged man in front of him. "Sam, talk to me! There's a razorblade on the bed dripping with blood and you're standing there catatonic. Tell me what's going on. NOW."

Sam spluttered "Splinter! I got a, uh, splinter in my uh, arm. Really deep. Had to dig it out."

"Ok, well then show me. Where the splinter was." Dean said, his eyes calling Sam's bluff. Sam shook his head and backed away from his brother.

"That's really not necessary, Dean. Don't worry about it."

The older man's eyes widened. "Worry? Oh we are FAR past the realm of 'Worry', buddy-boy! I come back to find a bloody razor laying on the bed, my brother breathing and jumping around like a scared rabbit, and the best excuse you can give me is SPLINTER? Something's going on, and you're gonna tell me, even if I have to beat it outta you."

Sam instinctively cradled his injured arm to his body, causing his concerned brother to lunge toward him and jerk the limb from his grasp. As Sam howled pain, Dean rolled the sleeve up, ignoring the younger Winchester's pleas. He looked up in shock to see Sam turning his head, not wanting his big brother to see the tears of shame and fear that were welling up in his eyes.

Dean gently took hold of Sam's wrist as he looked at the bloody slashes. "Did you do this, Sam? To yourself?" He took the silence as an affirmative. "Why? For how long? Is it because of me? Is there something-"

"Dean. Stop. It's not your fault, ok?" Sam's voice was full of venom and he jerked his arm away but about 4 seconds later he broke, collapsing to the bed and beginning to silently sob. It didn't take long for Dean to be at his side, holding his baby brother.

"It's just… It's all my fault. Everything. You getting sent to hell, Lucifer rising, the apocalypse... All of it was me. I'm hurting everyone else; I deserve to hurt, too."

Dean shook his head and pulled Sam away from him, looking into his eyes. "Sam, this isn't your fault. It would have eventually happened with or without you. Hurting yourself like this doesn't help anyone, anyway. Promise you'll stop. For me." His voice broke on the last word and Sam knew he had no choice.

"I'll stop , Dean. I promise." He pulled his heartbroken brother into another hug and silently wondered how long he could keep his promise.


End file.
